Dealing with the children’s father frequently feels as if he is standing atop a bridge, and I am standing in the shallows of a pond passing beneath it, as he drops a cinder block down into the water; I get thoroughly drenched, and the ripples spread out for days. [Though today is already better than yesterday, which was better than Monday...]
I shot an email to the new guy on Monday night, inviting him to Christmas dinner at Secondborn’s, with the proviso that I make it abundantly clear to my children it is not to be construed as a declaration of commitment or intent. First of all, because I enjoy his company. Second because I would like to forestall another bout of puppy dog eyes.
He may be able to come and actually have a good time. (We are a remarkably entertaining lot, frequently with no effort at all.) Failing that, I think my next best choice is to pray that the aforementioned hypothetical not-obviously-gay guy pops up in my life and is willing to hover protectively.
A couple of months after I joined the church (about five months after my baptism), I was dating a fellow college student who was a returned missionary. Very nice young man. He did not condemn me for being a divorcee, but he did remark to my mother that he did not understand how people could get divorced; his family went back into pioneer days, and there had never been a divorce.
We were perking along just fine until the night he brought me home from Family Home Evening to find FirstHubby at my parents’ place, having brought over the Christmas gifts from his folks to mine, and I can only imagine what he was thinking, but that was our last date, so if this gets my petri dish voted off the lab table, well, there is a precedent.
The new guy has responded, and it may not work out timewise, depending upon when his son’s fiancee arrives from overseas, but he thinks he is up to meeting an ex.
I had also suggested as a final alternative that I go fishing with him, and he drop me overboard. That would solve the problem rather neatly. At least for me. His response? I don’t think that taking you fishing and then dropping you over the side - would or could be done quietly.
One more reason to like the man.
I finished the actual knitting on missionary hat #2 at Knit Night last night. I will weave in the ends shortly and get back to work on Willow’s sock, which is nearing the point where toe decreases can begin. And I may have found the pattern I want for Lark’s scarf/shawlette in the new issue of Interweave Knits. Don’t ask me the name of it. I haven’t had my breakfast or chocolate yet.
Fuel City tacos for lunch today, courtesy of the big boss because we took such good care of our clients last month, and our second annual Game Night tonight. I’m not excessively fond of games, but I had a blast at last year’s and am looking forward to this one.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!